Learning to Teach: What I Look for in a Great Teacher

Reflections from the Floor, One Class at a Time

This week I taught a mix of private lessons and group classes — enough hours on the floor that my body felt it by Friday, but not so much that I didn’t have space to reflect.

And honestly? I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a great teacher.

Not just good.

Not just competent.

Great.

Not because I think I’m there yet — but because I want to be.

Because every time I walk out of a session, I find myself replaying moments in my head:

• Did that cue land?

• Did I rush that explanation?

• Did I give them room to explore, or just keep talking to fill the space?

The Teachers We Remember

There’s a certain kind of teacher you remember.

Not for their flashiness or their resume — but for how you felt in their class.

And the more I teach, the more I keep coming back to the same core traits:

• Clarity without overload. They give you just enough. Not the whole manual — just the next piece. It feels digestible, even when the content is complex.

• Calm presence. They don’t rush. They listen. They give space. You never feel like you’re being talked at — you feel like you’re part of something.

• Adaptability. They don’t push a fixed plan. They read the room. They meet you where you are, and shift the lesson if needed.

• Belief. They see your potential before you do. And they hold that vision, gently but firmly, until you start to believe it too.

The best teachers I’ve had in dance — and outside of it — all shared these qualities.

They made it feel like learning was something we were building together, not something they were delivering to me.

And every time I experience that, I think: That’s what I want to create.

What I’m Working On

This week, my practice has been this: saying less, watching more.

I have a tendency to over-explain. To fill the space with “helpful” information, or jump in to correct before the student even finishes trying.

But more and more, I’m seeing the power of holding back.

A simple cue.

A few beats of silence.

Letting them move first — and then guiding from what I observe.

This echoes something I’ve seen again and again in coaching literature and learning science: people learn more deeply when they’re given the chance to make sense of things themselves.

In educational theory, this is called “desirable difficulty” — the idea that some struggle is good. It’s how the brain makes real connections.

And if we interrupt too quickly, we rob our students of the chance to build that for themselves.

So now, I’m learning to trust the pause.

Presence Is a Teaching Skill

The more I teach, the more I believe that presence might be the most underrated teaching skill we have.

Not presence as in charisma or performance — but quiet, grounded, full attention.

The kind of presence that notices without judgment.

That listens more than it speaks.

That makes the student feel safe enough to try something difficult — and supported enough to keep going when it doesn’t work the first time.

This is especially true in dance, where so much of the work happens in the body, not just the brain. If a student doesn’t feel seen, or if they feel judged, the body tenses up.

They move less freely.

They get in their own way.

But if your presence says, “I’m here, I’ve got you, and I believe in you,” — everything shifts. The body opens.

The brain quiets down.

Learning becomes possible.

Great Teaching Isn’t Magic — It’s a Skillset

Something that’s helped me reframe my own growth as a teacher is realising great teaching isn’t just talent but in fact a learnable skill.

In fact, if you look across fields — from education to coaching to therapy — there’s a set of skills that great facilitators tend to share:

• Scaffolding — Giving support at just the right level, and then slowly removing it as the student gains confidence.

• Attunement — Paying close attention to how someone is responding emotionally and physically, and adjusting based on what they need.

• Feedback timing — Knowing when to let someone work through something on their own, and when to offer a cue or correction that redirects them gently.

• Metacognition — Helping students think about their thinking. Encouraging them to reflect on what they’re noticing, what they’re struggling with, and what’s helping.

The more I study these tools, the more I try to bring them into my own teaching. And the more I practice them, the more I'm realising that this is the craft.

Not just knowing the content — but learning how to guide someone through it with care.

Still a Student

At the end of the day, I still feel like a student in the art of teaching.

But I think that’s how it’s supposed to feel.

Teaching, like dance, is never finished. It’s something we get to keep refining, experimenting with, growing into.

And if we’re paying attention — really paying attention — our students will keep teaching us how to be better.

Thanks for reading. If you’re also thinking about your own growth as a teacher — or reflecting on the teachers who’ve shaped you — I’d love to hear your thoughts.

You can reach out directly, or check out more of my blog posts [here].